Chapter 7 - Shelter

It took far longer than Lazar was comfortable with to make it to the nearest cave, and more than once he stumbled and had to pull himself back up to his feet. The good thing, though, was that his limbs felt slightly more solid now. Still weak, but not quite as clumsy.

There was nothing inside the cave. Lazar scanned the interior three times to be sure before he finally allowed himself to slump down against its walls.

It was a small space, too short to stand up all the way in, but that at least made it easier to tell if something was inside. The walls themselves were made of the same cool black stone that the rock spires were constructed of. When he touched them, his fingers came away damp.

A few black flowers blossomed out from the stone, dotting the rough surface. Their inky, dense petals remained tightly curled, nearly camouflaging into their surroundings.

In the back of the cave, water dripped down from the jagged ceiling. The sound reverberated in the enclosed space, making it feel larger than it was. Lazar sighed, grateful for the moment of reprieve. He took the opportunity to examine his wounds.

The skin of his knees had been rubbed raw from when he’d dragged himself to his halberd, but it looked like the fabric of his pants had provided just enough of a barrier to prevent any open wounds. The skin there was simply tender.

His hands, however, were a different story. Cuts and scratches littered his palms, and his skin was caked with grime and blood—both the demon’s and his own. Lazar peered outside the entrance, and once he confirmed that there were no demons nearby, he quietly moved over to the back of the cave.

Below the dripping water, small clear pools had formed on the cave floor. Lazar touched a finger to the surface of the largest one, and it rippled like normal water. He sunk his finger in deeper, letting it soak for a few moments, and pulled it back out. He inspected the finger. There was nothing wrong with it that he could see, and it didn’t feel wrong, either. He held his palms over the puddle, then carefully submerged them.

The water was cold. His cuts stung, but he kept his hands there and began methodically rubbing away at the grime. He spent an extra long time washing out the cuts themselves, ignoring the stinging sensation.

Once his hands were done, he shifted his position to get a better look at the wound on his thigh. The cut, thankfully, wasn’t too deep, though it still bled a fair deal. The constant movement likely hadn’t helped. He cleaned the cut like he had his hands, then pressed down on it until the bleeding slowed.

Lazar frowned. He didn’t know how much of his old healing factor he’d retained after the fall. The natural strength of a seraph’s soul allowed them to heal faster and live longer than humans, and it also meant that they could survive extended periods of time without eating, drinking, or sleeping. Essence alone was often enough to sustain them.

His other hand clutched at his chest, where the mark of the fallen lay hidden beneath fabric.

He would have to be careful. Right now, there were no guarantees.

He didn’t have any bandages, so Lazar settled for tearing a few strips from the bottom of his cloak. He wound some around his palms, making sure they didn’t obstruct his movement, then moved on to his thigh. That he wrapped multiple times.

Once he was satisfied, he eyed the puddles of water again. After a moment of hesitation, he leaned down to one of the unused ones and took a few sips.

He was more parched than he thought. Lazar forced himself to drink slowly, and once he was done, he sat back up.

His eyes fell on the halberd left propped against the wall, just close enough for him to grab at a moment’s notice. Its blade was splattered with the demon’s blood and a few bits of cut up flesh, obscuring its typical silver sheen. The shaft wasn’t in much better condition, smeared and dirtied by his hands. He should clean it. Some demons had acidic blood that could damage blades.

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How many nights had he spent polishing it, he wondered absently. It had seemed so important to him back then, that the halberd was always shining. Now, he looked at it and only felt numbness.

Slowly, the fallen seraph gripped the weapon, resting it over his lap, and began cleaning the blade. It was easy to fall into the familiar rhythm of movements, the sound of dripping water echoing in the small rock shelter. Easy to lose himself in the memories.

—

Lazar pulled back the cloth, eyeing the metal critically. He held it up to the window, inspecting the way the light bounced off its surface. He preferred to clean the weapon at night, when the contrast of inky darkness and the eternal light above the realm made it easier to find imperfections. In the daytime, when the entire sky was washed in brightness, flaws tended to be obscured.

A snort drew Lazar out of his focus. He lowered the halberd back onto his lap and turned to Julius, seated by the crackling fireplace, an eyebrow raised in amusement.

“You’ve polished that thing four times now.”

“I like to be thorough.” Lazar squinted and rubbed at a small stain he’d missed near the top of the shaft.

“It isn’t worth that much,” Julius said.

“I think it’s very expensive.” Lazar was smiling, and Julius shook his head.

It was true. The halberd was made of the finest quality metal in Elysium, and it had been crafted by their best blacksmith, the same one who’d casted the weapons of the guardians and even of the Light herself.

Lazar eyed Julius carefully, taking in the other seraph’s rare relaxed demeanor. He didn’t seem to understand how monumental it was for a servant like Lazar to possess something like this. Even his guard uniform was nowhere near as high quality. When he’d first brought the halberd on assignments, he’d had the urge to hide it, as though simply having it near him was a transgression.

But then, he supposed the cost would mean nothing to Julius. The Andires were certainly not wanting for wealth or status. And status, in Elysium, was perhaps the most important. The realm’s resources were abundant enough that everyone could live comfortably, but craft like the halberd extended beyond comfort and became a symbol of true prestige.

“If it breaks,” Julius said flippantly, “I’ll get you another one.”

“I don’t know if the lord and lady would approve of your spending habits.”

“Did you really think I got their permission?”

This time Lazar was the one to laugh, and Julius soon joined in with a quiet chuckle.

He continued cleaning the blade for the next hour. The entire time Julius stayed by the fireplace, watching, but he didn’t comment again. They fell into an easy silence, one of unspoken understanding, and Lazar felt his own shoulders relax that night in a way that they hadn’t for many years.

—

Lazar set the halberd down, his throat tight. Clear of that demon’s blood and flesh, the silver weapon looked exactly the same as it had all those nights ago, high up in the stretches of Elysium. A hand reached absently to his empty back before dropping again.

What changed, he wondered.

Alone in the confined space of the cave, the weight of everything that had happened came crashing down at once. There was nothing more he could do to ignore it. No battle to focus on. No rudimentary motions to lose himself to.

His weakness. Barely fighting off the demon. The pain of falling, the hollowness in his soul. The empty space where essence should appear in his vision. Heavy, lopsided steps, unbalanced from the loss of his wings. Julius’s impassive face. That beaming light.

A strange, cold feeling rose in his chest, one that was unfamiliar and beyond identification. He heard a faint wheezing sound and realized it was his own laughter, bubbling hysterically until, all at once, it stopped just as abruptly as it began.

The seraph closed his eyes and slumped back against the wall. Its cool surface felt good against his back. Wrong. It shouldn’t be bare.

Lazar focused on the sound of his own breathing and the steady drip of the water, on the lingering pain in his limbs, the throbbing of his wounds. He kept one hand wrapped around the halberd shaft, still resting across his lap, in case another demon came.

The darkness in the cave was so different from Elysium, he thought absently.

Then he closed his eyes, finally allowing exhaustion to consume him.